


Good King Elessar

by Dreamflower



Series: Shire Yule [7]
Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works, The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Arnor, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fourth Age, Gen, Hobbits, Holidays, Song Inspired, Winter, Yule, hands of the king are the hands of a healer
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-12-10
Updated: 2014-12-14
Packaged: 2018-01-04 07:04:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 10,327
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1077992
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dreamflower/pseuds/Dreamflower
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Frodo Gamgee learns something about the High King...(If this story seems to bear a more than passing resemblance to a familiar seasonal song, it is not a coincidence.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Hither Page and Stand By Me

 

Frodo Gamgee learns something about the High King...(If this story seems to bear a more than passing resemblance to a familiar seasonal song, it is not a coincidence.)

**GOOD KING ELESSAR**

**PART I: HITHER PAGE AND STAND BY ME**

_Foreyule, S.R. 1442_

Frodo Gamgee stared out the window at the lightly swirling snowflakes--there were only a few so far, and they melted as soon as they touched the ground. He wondered what they were doing at Bag End. His parents and the others should have arrived at home a few days ago--his mother would probably be starting on the Yule baking. And Elanor would be settling back in at home, and likely flitting about to see all the friends she had been missing for the past year while she'd been in Gondor maid-of-honouring to the Queen.

He sighed, and reminded himself that it had been his choice to go to the Northern court. Elanor'd had her turn this past year in the South, while her parents were in Gondor, and now it was his chance to prove himself--he was nearly twenty, after all! And while Annúminas mightn't be so grand a city as Minas Anor, still it was grand enough for him. He glanced down at himself, and fingered the embroidery of the stars-and-Tree on his surcoat. One of the High King's pages he was, now. And at the moment the High King's _only_ page, seeing as they were not at Court.

For this had been Uncle Merry's and Uncle Pippin's surprise gift to the King when he had arrived in Arnor on his progress: a hunting lodge, about twenty miles north of the Brandywine Bridge. It was not too far from Girdley Island, a sprawling dwelling well able to accommodate both Big Folk and Little, as long as they were not accompanied by a horde of servants--a place where, as Uncle Pippin had put it, the good King Elessar could put aside his worries and be once more Strider the Ranger for a little while--only with a few more comforts! It was much nearer than the Northern Citadel on the far shores of Lake Evendim, and so would make the perfect spot for visits between old friends.

His sharp hobbit ears heard the soft tread of his liege, as the King entered the large front room where Frodo stood. He turned. "How is Uncle Merry, sire?" he asked.

"Embarrassed," replied the King. "It's only a light sprain, after all. I think your Uncle Pippin was more upset than he was. A day of bed rest, and keeping his ankle up will see Merry right very soon. But I gave both of them a light sleeping draught."

Frodo nodded. Poor Uncle Pippin had been distraught when he had helped his hobbling cousin inside. The two had been out in the cold, and, as his own father often called it in exasperated tones, "playing about like a couple of tweens". Actually, as Uncle Merry had said with dignity, they had been sparring, when he put a foot wrong.

_"Serves me right," he had winced, as Aragorn had checked his injury. "I've neglected to keep in fighting shape the last few years."_

_Uncle Pippin had nodded seriously, but said nothing, as he bit his lip and hovered over his older cousin like a hen with one chick. But Frodo-lad had been reassured when he met the King's eyes, and seen the twinkle there._

_"I scarcely think, Sir Meriadoc, that we are in any peril here," he said mildly. "And if unexpected foes should suddenly appear, I still have the doughty Sir Peregrin and the brave Captain Bergil. Not to mention the son of Samwise the Stout-hearted."_

_Frodo felt a brief instant of warm pride, at both the praise of his father, and the implication that he was worthy of similar regard--though in his heart he knew he was young and untried._

_"Well, but we promised, Strider," said Pippin, "that you'd not need a horde of guards with you when we came here."_

_"Nor do I," and without so much as a by-your-leave, he'd picked Uncle Merry up, and with Uncle Pippin trotting at his heels, had carried the injured hobbit off to his bed._

Now Uncle Strider--no, Frodo reminded himself--the King, for the next year, he must only think of him as the King--turned to the door, and summoned Captain Bergil inside.

"Everything shall be quite well, Bergil," the King said. "Merry has merely sprained his ankle, slipping on the icy ground as they sparred. However, this may put his return home off a few days longer. I want you to ride down to the messenger-house by the Stonebow Bridge, and see that word is taken to Mistress Estella. I don't wish her to worry unnecessarily, and I am afraid she might box my ears," he laughed, "if I should fail to inform her!"

Frodo-lad suppressed a chuckle at the thought of Aunt Estella boxing the King's ears--but she _would_ be cross if no one thought to tell her of her husband's mishap!

Bergil looked doubtful at this order, though he said nothing, but stood with arms folded, regarding the King--who correctly interpreted his look. "I shall be quite safe here. Now, if any should seek to chastise you for leaving my side, you have a direct order from me."

"Very well, sire." But Frodo could tell that it set ill with the captain to go off and leave the King unguarded.

King Elessar, on the other hand, was grinning. "Now off with you, Bergil!" And of course, the Guardsman had no choice in the matter.

Uncle--no, the King--confound it, it was hard to think of him as King when he had that sort of smile, that come to think of it, reminded him a lot more of Uncle Merry and Uncle Pippin than it did of a King--the King turned and looked about himself as though he had achieved a mighty victory. But Frodo hoped that the Queen would not be too cross at Bergil for going off and leaving them. King Elessar looked at his face, and chuckled, "If she is angry with anyone, it will be with me, Frodo, and not poor Bergil."

Frodo was astonished. How had he known what he was thinking?

There was another chuckle. "You show every thought right on your honest face, lad, just like your father!"

Now Frodo found himself blushing to the tips of his ears.

"I'm going to go check on your uncles. Why don't you see to making some luncheon for us?"

The young hobbit grinned, and made a bee-line for the kitchen--he'd been itching to get busy there ever since Uncle Merry and Uncle Pippin had given them the grand tour this morning when they arrived. It was a splendid kitchen, and built so that hobbits would feel right at home cooking in it. There was a Big Folk sized table, and the dishes and pans were in two sizes, but the hearth and the stove and the pump at the sink were meant to be used by hobbit hands.

"We figured," said Merry, "that you'd be having hobbit guests with you whenever you stayed here."

"Ah," the King had replied, and he had raised an eyebrow at the unabashed Master and Thain.

"Of course," Uncle Pippin had said breezily. "Who else would be doing the cooking here?"

But while Uncle Merry and Uncle Pippin were showing the kitchen off, Frodo-lad had occupied himself with an inventory of the adjacent--and well-stocked--larder, and thought of all the wonderful things it might be possible to make. He had seen that plenty of provisions had been laid in--cheeses, and smoked hams, and preserves, and dried beans and mushrooms, and bottles of wine, and casks of beer and ale, and eggs and milk and flour, as well as loaves of bread, and baskets of root vegetables--carrots, onions, potatoes, turnips and other good things. Near the hearth was a well-filled woodbox, and Frodo soon had fires roaring in both the fireplace and the stove. By the time that the King joined him, he was busy chopping vegetables for a hearty soup, and had cut one of the loaves for toasting.

"They are both sound asleep. The chamomile, vervain and willow-bark did the trick, lad."

Frodo nodded, as he put the soup upon the stove, and the bread on the toasting forks. "I know Uncle Pippin was worried."

"They both worry about one another--they always have, as long as I have known them. They worried a good deal about Frodo as well, as did your father." The King sat in one of the big chairs near the large window, and stretched out his long legs, taking out his pipe to fill. Soon the kitchen was filled with the mingled smell of vegetable soup, Old Toby, and ale. The King gave Frodo-lad the half he'd be allowed in the Shire, and was rewarded by a smile.

As the soup simmered, Frodo listened to his King harking back to the days of the Quest, and telling him stories of that perilous journey. Frodo had read the Red Book, and more than once, but it was quite different listening to it from the King's point-of-view.

"I thought I knew something of hobbits, Frodo-lad, until I began to travel with them. And then I was constantly being surprised by them. It was not until we left Rivendell that I began to learn what tireless foragers they were…"

As Frodo served up the soup and toast, they ate together in companionable silence. He looked at this big Man--so tall, and so kind, and so familiar--and yet, recalling him on his throne in the Northern Citadel, with his beautiful Queen by his side, he knew also King Elessar's regal side. He recalled his father telling him once that sometimes it seemed as if Strider and the King were two different people. __"But don't you forget, son, even when he was being Strider, way back then afore any of us had a clue, there was still something noble and high about him. And even when he's at his fiercest kingliness, at heart, he's still Strider as well. He never forgets what it was like to be a ragged wanderer, and made mock of by ignorant and suspicious folk--such as I was then! Don't forget Mr. Bilbo's words, 'All that is gold does not glitter', Frodo-lad."__

Just as Frodo was about to offer to fetch seconds of the soup from off the stove, he saw the King sit forward, and gazed sharp-like out the window.

Frodo looked, too. The snow was swirling a bit more thickly, but there at the edge of the copse of woods to the north of the lodge, he could see it--a Man, limping, gathering up fallen wood from beneath the trees. The cloak he was wearing was ragged and threadbare, and he had no hood, nor hat upon his head.

"Look, Frodo-lad! Do you have any idea who that is? Where does he dwell?"

Frodo put his face closer to the window, and tried to think. "I think I know who he is--Uncle Merry says he lives about a league from here, near the forest eaves, by Lost Lamb Spring. He keeps to himself, so Uncle Merry says, and will hide if he sees hobbits coming."

The King looked intently, as the figure, burdened with the pitifully small amount of wood he could manage, vanished into the copse beyond. "Frodo, I have an idea."

 


	2. A Good League Hence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The King has an idea...

 

**GOOD KING ELESSAR**

**PART II: A GOOD LEAGUE HENCE**

Frodo felt a touch of alarm; somehow to hear the King say "I have an idea" in the same tone of voice his own younger brothers often used just before committing some inventive bit of mischief, did not bode well.

"An idea, sire?" he asked aloud.

"I am thinking we could see to it yon fellow has a fuller belly and a warmer night than he looks to have now."

That didn't sound so bad. In fact, thought Frodo, it might very well be a good idea. "How?" he asked.

The King leaned back, took a pull on his pipe, and sent forth a smoke-ring. "This place is more than well-stocked. Why the five of us will scarcely use all these provisions in the few days we shall be here! We could take him some meat and other provender, a few bottles of wine, and some of the firewood as well."

Frodo grinned for a moment, as he could imagine the look of astonished delight on the poor fellow's face. Still, he couldn't help but hear a little voice of caution. It sounded, as the voice of caution often did, remarkably like his father. "It seems like a good thing to do, sire. But--er--are you sure it'd be quite proper for us to go off like that, what with the captain gone, and all…" He stopped at the look of amusement on Unc--the King's face. He flushed. "Beg pardon for presuming, sire…"

The King chuckled. "No, Master Gamgee, it's _not_ altogether proper; but I think it will do no harm. It is only a league, you say. Why we can be there and back by suppertime!" He leaned back, and took another puff on his pipe.

Frodo-lad noticed he'd said nothing of teatime. He tried one more thing. "But what if Uncle Pippin or Uncle Merry should wake? They'd be dreadfully worried to find us gone!" Not to mention, thought Frodo, cross.

The King tapped out his pipe and stood up. "And so we will leave them a note. In fact, I shall leave it to you to write. If you will bring out the meat and wine and other provender, I shall see to fetching some firewood. Be sure to wear a warm cloak, lad! I would not care to answer to your parents if you should catch a chill."

Frodo watched as the Man went out the back door, and sighing, the lad went to the larder to obey his liege's commands. Soon he'd filled a large basket with a smoked ham, a cheese, some of the loaves, a couple of jars of brambleberry preserves and four bottles of wine. He hefted it onto the table in the kitchen, and then fetched paper, pen and ink.

_"Dear Uncle Pippin,_

_The King sent Captain Bergil down to the Bridge to take word of Uncle Merry's sprain to Aunt Estella._

_The King and me have gone to Lost Lamb Spring, to take some food and firewood to the poor fellow that lives up there. Uncle Merry knows where that is. The King says we will be back by suppertime. It is his idea._

_I left some soup on to simmer at the back of the stove in case you are hungry._

_I hope Uncle Merry's ankle is feeling better._

_Love,_

_Frodo Gamgee."_

He placed the note in the middle of the table, and then placed a platter to hold the corner of the note down. He fetched some more bread, some cheese and butter, which he then placed on the platter, and set out plates and mugs as well. That way it would be easy for Uncle Pippin to fix tea for himself and Uncle Merry. He went over to the stove, and moved the soup to the back, so that it would still simmer, but would not scorch, and then tried to think if there was anything else needed doing.

He glanced out the window, and saw the King coming towards the lodge, pulling behind him a sled, used for hauling things in the winter. It had quite a stack of pine-logs on it. Frodo noticed that the snowflakes were falling more quickly now, and that there seemed to be some of it sticking to the ground. He grinned--they rarely got any snow in Hobbiton.

The King came in, with a blast of cold air, and smiled to see Frodo's preparations. "It looks as though we are nearly ready, then, Frodo." He took the basket down from the table, and carried it out the kitchen door to the sled.

"What is the sled for, sire?" Frodo asked.

"Why to pull the provisions with, of course."

"We aren't riding?" Frodo was surprised, for he had thought they would.

The King shook his head. "Not to go just a league, I think."

Frodo nodded. Although Uncle Merry had given him a splendid pony, to take with him to the court at Annúminas, Frodo was unused to riding. He didn't mind the idea of walking.

"Now, Frodo, go quickly and fetch your cloak! We shall be off directly."

Frodo dashed to the small room that had been assigned to him, and as he snatched up his cloak--his mother had made it of sturdy brown wool, and lined the hood with squirrel for warmth--he noticed the two spare blankets, folded at the foot of his bed. Remembering the threadbare state of the Man they had seen, he gathered up the blankets as well, before dashing back through the kitchen and out the back door, where the King awaited.

The King smiled in approval at the blankets. "Good thinking, Frodo! That is just the sort of thing your father would have done! Sam was always prepared, and he always seemed to know what would be needed!"

Frodo's face lit up at this praise, and he drew on his gloves, which he kept in the pocket of his cloak. They were knitted of soft red wool by Aunt Estella. He drew the fur-lined hood of his cloak up, and blessed his mother for thinking of that, as a blast of chill air hit his cheeks. He tipped up his face, and felt the snowflakes land there and then melt.

The King took up the rope on the sled, and set forth, with Frodo walking easily at his side. Frodo glanced back at the lodge, seeing the tracks they were making in the new-fallen snow, which was gradually growing deeper.

"What do you know of this fellow, Frodo?"

"Not very much, sire. Uncle Merry brought Perry, Wyn, Rose-lass and I up here for a few days while the building was going on, and we did a bit of exploring as far as the edge of the wood. It was back in the summer-time, and one day we had a picnic by the spring. While we were there, we had a glimpse of him--he was just within the trees--and hid away as soon as he saw us, but Rosie was frightened, so we came back to the lodge right away. We asked Uncle Merry about him. He said that the Bounders knew that the fellow lived there, in a small hut not far from Lost Lamb Spring, and that he kept to himself and seemed harmless."

" 'Tis closer to the Shire than I'd care to see Men settling," said the King gravely. "but if it's only the one fellow, and he leaves the Shire alone, I shan't worry about it." His brow furrowed. "I may know what that hut is--the Rangers once had a small waystation in that area, but I am sure it was long abandoned." He glanced down at the small lad at his side. "Frodo, are you entirely certain about spending the year in Annúminas? Your parents were away for over a year, with Elanor and Robin and little Tolman. And here I have taken you away from them when they have only just returned home."

"Well, I missed them. I missed them all something fierce. And I suppose I will miss them something fierce now, too. But, well, Elanor had her chance, and I want mine. And I miss you as well, Unc--I mean, sire--and I mean to spend some time with you, because it's a long way to Gondor, and you'll only be here for two years before you're gone again. Sam-dad thinks it'll be good for me, too. He says I need educating, and that I should find out more about Men and their history, 'cause it's going to be important to hobbits now that the world has changed."

"Sam is a very wise hobbit, Frodo."

"Dad says hobbits only have pipe-weed 'cause of the Dúnedain." Frodo had been curious about that, ever since his father had told him.

The King laughed. "He's quite right. The Númenoreans brought not only pipe-weed, but _athelas_ and potatoes and tomatoes and maize and several other plants to Middle-earth."

"Really? 'Taters too?"

"Yes, indeed." The King smiled, and briefly placed a hand on Frodo's head.

Frodo pondered that, and the two walked in silence for a while, for the wind had picked up and made conversation more difficult.


	3. Throught the Rude Wind's Wild Lament

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aragorn and Frodo-lad find the going a bit more difficult than anticipated...

**GOOD KING ELESSAR**

**PART III: THROUGH THE RUDE WIND'S WILD LAMENT**  


As the wind howled around them more loudly, Frodo shivered, and drew his clock more closely. The snow was deeper now--over his ankles, and he was finding the going much slower.

He tried to distract himself, by remembering how his father and the other Companions had tried to cross the mountains. Caradhras had been ever so much crueller, he was sure!

He remembered a day, a few years back, when he had listened to his father, and Uncles Merry and Pippin talking about their journey.

_He had been about fifteen at the time, and the weather had been cold and nasty. He himself was only just getting over a cold, and so had been left at Bag End when his mother had taken the other children to visit their grandparents in Bywater. That was why he'd been in the front room, tucked up on the settee next to his father, half-drowsing. He supposed that they thought he was actually asleep, for his father and honorary uncles rarely talked about the more difficult parts of their famous adventure when they thought any of the children might hear._

_"It's right nippy out today. I'm just as glad I don't have call to be out in it," said his father._

_"It's not just nippy, Sam, it's downright cold!" said Uncle Pippin._

_"There's cold," said Uncle Merry, "and there's *_ Caradhras _cold!" He shuddered and leaned down from his chair to pick up the poker and prod the fire._

_There was a brief silence, and then Frodo's father had said, "I never knew there could be so much snow in all the world, nor that it could get so deep and heavy! I was right worried about Mr. Frodo. Fair blue he was!"_

_"We were all 'fair blue', Sam, and you as much as the rest," said Pippin softly. "I don't mind confessing it: I'd never known what cold was before we went up the Redhorn Pass."_

_"I was right scared. It was the first time I thought that I might be going to die." Sam-dad's voice seemed distant, and Frodo-lad thought over those words with a shock. He thought back to what he had seen in the Red Book. It was true: Uncle Merry and Uncle Pippin had been caught in Old Man Willow, and poor Uncle Frodo had been stabbed at Weathertop. All of them had been in peril in the Barrow-downs, but his father had been unconscious at the time, and had not known of his danger till later. But going up that mountain? It had been mortal peril for all of them, and they had known it._

_"We'd not have survived without Boromir's foresight," said Merry._

_"He was quite cross with Gandalf," Pippin added. "So was I, for that matter."_

_"And everyone was cross with Legolas," added Merry._

_This had made everyone chuckle, and the serious moment passed, but Frodo never forgot that note of fear in their voices, that they only allowed to come out when they thought they were just speaking among themselves…_

Frodo shuddered, drawing his cloak in even tighter on himself. He could barely see for the swirling snow, and in spite of the hood, his face burned with cold. He could not even _feel_ his feet. He tried to look to the side, to where the King had been walking, and realized he'd fallen behind. He nearly stumbled.

"S-sire!" he tried to call out, but he felt the words blowing away as they left his mouth. He gasped, and took a deep breath of frigid air. The King was walking on without him, all unknowing. He felt a moment of sheer panic.

But his faint call had been enough--the King was only a few steps ahead after all, and heard the faint plea, stopped, and turned.

Suddenly, Frodo felt the wind blocked, as the King knelt before him, holding out his arms, he pulled the lad into his embrace. "Ah, Frodo-lad, I am so sorry! I am not so weather-wise as I once was--I was sure this snowstorm would hold off until much later!

He pulled his own cloak closer around them both, "Please forgive me, lad."

Frodo gasped, and nodded his head. He did not trust his voice to work. He was feeling much warmer now that the wind was blocked. The King picked him up, and carried him over to the sled, and sat him down atop the pile of firewood. He chaffed Frodo's feet, and took up one of the blankets and wrapped it round Frodo over his cloak.

"Your old Uncle Strider has been too long away from the wilds of the North! I had forgotten how suddenly these snows can come on! I should never have made a mistake like this!" He took a flask from his pocket, and offered Frodo-lad a sip. "Just a very small taste, lad! Too much will make things worse."

Frodo nearly sputtered at the bitter taste of the liquor, but it warmed him going down. "That's all, lad. It isn't _miruvor_ , and the effects won't last long, but it should put a little heart into you."

"Thank you, sire!" Frodo felt a warmth spreading out through him from the brandy. "I am sorry to be so much trouble."

"You are not trouble at all, my lad, and any trouble I shall have from this venture will be entirely my own fault. I shall count myself lucky if your father does not take Sting to me!" He smiled at Frodo in a way that reminded the lad of his Uncle Pippin.

Frodo-lad giggled; he felt the teensiest bit light-headed. "No, I don't think he'd do that, but Mam might take a broomstick to you!"

The King--no, at the moment he was definitely Uncle Strider--laughed loudly, and the laughter rang out and was carried off by the wind. "And I should not dare to complain if she does, for I most certainly deserve it for being so hasty."

He looked serious once more, though. "Now, Frodo, we are very nearly to our destination; I think it better that we continue, rather than turn back. You could ride upon the sled as I pull it, but I think that you will stay warmer if you keep moving. What say you?"

"Yes, sire, I think so too."

"Very well, then, we shall start up again. Keep that blanket round you over your cloak. I shall go out in front of you, and I want you to walk directly behind me, so that I block out the worst of the wind. Stay between me and the sled, and walk in my footsteps."

Frodo nodded, and hopped down from the sled, and they set forth once more. He did not try to see where he was going; instead, he kept his face down, and simply placed each foot in first one and then another, of the imprints set before him.

He was still cold, but he felt much warmer than he had, as the wind could no longer reach him so easily. And each of the treads in which he stepped made him feel confident and safe.

The journey continued, and Frodo thought once again of his father's and the others' trek up that treacherous mountain--and their trek down again! At least he was not having to be carried, like they were!

After walking a while longer--Frodo was not sure how long--the King paused, and pointed to his right. "Yonder lies the spring." Frodo turned and glanced in that direction--he could see the glitter of ice round the edges, but it appeared the spring was still flowing. It would have to be much colder to freeze the running water.

They walked on, and Frodo realized the snow was lessening, though it seemed to be growing darker. No, they had reached the eaves of the wood.

"We are nearly there, lad. Do you need to rest before we push on?"

Frodo shook his head. "No, sire. Don't be stopping on my account."

They trudged on a bit more slowly beneath the trees--but it was much less windy, and there was not so much snow on the ground here where the branches formed a lattice above their heads. The going was easier, even though they had to make their way carefully around the trees--the sled did not pull so well here, with the roots of the trees getting in the way.

Suddenly, the King stopped, and Frodo nearly ran into the back of his long legs. "There!"

Frodo looked. Directly ahead of them was a small ramshackle building, not much bigger than the toolshed at Bag End, though considerably taller, and it had a chimney, from which smoke curled up in silvery wisps. There were no windows, but there was a chink beneath the door, from which a faint line of light emerged.

The King nodded. "Yes, that _was_ an old Ranger waystation! But I do not believe that Rangers have made use of it since the time of the Ring War." He gave a decisive nod. "Come, Frodo, let us see if our gifts are welcome." And he strode forward, as Frodo trotted up next to his side, and knocked briskly on the door.


	4. Yonder Peasant Who Is He?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The King and Frodo-lad learn the sad story of the man they came to help...

**GOOD KING ELESSAR**

 

**PART IV: YONDER PEASANT, WHO IS HE?**

They waited a moment, but there was no answer. The King rapped once more. They could hear someone moving about slowly. Finally, a voice spoke faintly through the door.

"Who is it?" was the hesitant query.

The King used his pleasantest voice. "We are friendly, and mean you no harm. It is very cold out here, and I have a young one with me."

The door cracked just the smallest bit; they could see the face of a Man outlined in the faint glow of a small fire. He looked careworn, and there was both fear and sorrow in the brown eyes. His brown hair and beard were shot with locks of grey, and he was bundled in drab and threadbare garments of a non-descript colour. He glanced at the King in puzzlement, and at Frodo with alarm.

"But he's a hobbit," he said. When he looked back at the King's face there was a touch of hostility. "What are you doing with a hobbit-child?" he asked. His wariness had turned to suspicion.

Frodo looked up at him, and suddenly realized that the Man was worried for him. "It is quite all right, sir! This is my friend." He was afraid if he told the Man this was the King he would frighten him.

The Man sniffed. "Some friend to bring you out in weather like this! Come in, come in out of the cold." He moved back opening the door more widely, and it was only then that he saw the sled. "What is that?"

The King smiled. "Just some things that might make the evening more pleasant--firewood, food, wine and blankets."

The Man stopped, his face a study in shock. He looked at the sled, and then in the faces of his visitors, as he came to a sudden realization. There was a brief silence, and then in a choked sob, he said, "You brought that for _me_ didn't you?"

"Yes. We had more than enough for ourselves, it seemed right to share it. My name is Strider…"

The Man looked up again, startled, and studied the King's rugged face. "Why, it _is_ you, Strider!"

It was the King's turn to be startled. "You know me?"

He shrugged. "I used to see you sometimes, in Bree. I doubt me that you'd've known me, though." He heaved a sigh, and then noticed Frodo-lad shivering. "Come in, come in out of the cold!" and he stepped back.

Frodo picked up the large basket from the sled, and the King turned and picked up an armload of the firewood, leaving the rest of it on the sled. Then he used a foot to close the door behind him.

As he carried the wood over to the small hearth, Frodo looked for a place to put the basket. There was no table--only two chairs and a small bedstead. He put the basket on one of the chairs, and turned to the Man with a small bow. "Frodo Gamgee at your service," he said politely.

The Man cleared his throat, "Er, Tom Appledore, Master Gamgee, at yours and your family's." His face reddened beneath the shaggy hair and beard.

Frodo watched as the King built up the fire. They had come in good time, for he could see that there were only a pitiful few sticks left of the wood the old Man had been gathering before. There was something in a pot, but there was scarcely enough heat to warm it--it was not giving off any aroma, and Frodo went over to look: water, with what appeared to be a few meagre chunks of turnip and carrot floating about in it.

" 'Tisn't much, young master," said the Man--Mr. Appledore, Frodo corrected himself. "But it's all I've left in my winter stores. 'Tis been a lean year." He limped up to look over Frodo's shoulder.

Frodo-lad smiled up at him. "Well, we'll make it stretch a bit, with what we've brought you!" He took the pot from the hearth and brought it over next to the basket. "Let's see: there's some 'taters, and more carrots, and some onions and beans. A bit of salt. We can add that and turn this into a fine soup, Mr. Appledore! And we can cut a bit of this lovely ham--it's sugar-cured ham from Newbury, it is! And some of the bread, for toasting…"

The King stood back from the fire, and smiled at Mr. Appledore. "It is as well to get out of the way of a hobbit cooking. Since we've no table, shall we spread this blanket on the floor? We may make a fine picnic here. It is very good to be in out of the cold, Mr. Appledore."

The old Man looked back with tears in his eyes. "You say that like I'm doing you a fine favour, when it's you what's brought me all this, Strider. I don't deserve to have no one be so good to me!"

"Here, let us sit down, while we wait upon our food," and the King sat down at one corner of the blanket, and after an instant, Mr. Appledore did the same.

"I got no plates," Mr. Appledore said, "and I only have one cup and one spoon…"

"We'll make do. I have eaten less well in the wilderness, sir."

Mr. Appledore shook his head. "You got no call to be 'sir-ring' me. I'm no one special."

As they finally sat to their make-shift meal, which their host ate eagerly, the King said, "How does it come that you live here, Mr. Appledore? For I know that of old this was a waystation for Rangers."

" An' you being a Ranger, you'd know that," was the reply. Their host looked worried. "But I got leave to stay here, I have!"

The King gave him a very direct look, and then nodded. "I know that you are telling the truth, yet I would know the rest of the story. How does a Bree-man such as yourself come to be living so far from home?"

Frodo saw tears spring to Mr. Appledore's eyes, and there was a look of such sorrow and regret there that it made his own eyes spark with tears. He blinked and rubbed a hand across them.

"Well, I see as there's nothing for it, then. But when you hear, you mayhap will be sorry for your kindness to me." He let out a deep breath…

_"It were nigh on twenty-five years ago, when I lived in Bree, me and my old mother. My dad had died when I was little, and for years my ma did her best to take care o' me, but we was poor enough. My ma did mending and took in washing and it were hard, but we mostly had enough food to fill our bellies. Soon as I was old enough, I went to work myself._

_I got myself a job in the stable at The Prancing Pony. Mr. Butterburr was a kind enough master, and paid fair, but a stable hand don't make much even so. But he gave me my lunch and supper, and some nights if there wasn't as much custom as they'd thought on, he'd let me take some supper home to ma. I was good friends with Bob Mugwort, who worked with me in the stable--I saw to the horses what come in, and he saw to the ponies, leastwise that was how it was supposed to be, but really we shared the work. And his brother Nob was friends with me, too. I didn't have too many friends among the other Big Folk, truth be told--I had no time for larking about, nor no money to spend, neither._

_I was younger then, and I thought my life wasn't fair. Thought myself hard done by. I knew I'd never amount to much, nor would I ever be able to afford a wife, and I felt right sorry for myself a lot of the time._

_Well, one day I suppose my grumbling come to the ears of Harry Goatleaf, 'cause he found me one day in the stable, and told me that he could find me better work._

_O' course I was interested. He told me that a friend of his needed some carters, to do a bit of driving and delivering in the Shire. Then he told me what his friend would pay me--one trip would earn me as much as I'd've made in a year working at the Pony!_

_I suppose I should have thought on it more. Harry Goatleaf had never been very friendly to me afore, and I was not much liking the looks of the boss he introduced me to: a squint-eyed Southerner name of Krag. And the others that Harry was picking for the jobs were a rough lot. But I couldn't see past all the pretty silver coins Harry'd showed me, so I took up with them. My ma wasn't happy to see me leave, though I told her I'd be able to send her more money than she'd ever had afore. But she said 'I'd rather have my boy.'_

_And off we went, with a dozen empty waggons."_

Frodo-lad was not sure he liked the way Mr. Appledore's story was going. He scooted a bit closer to Uncle Strider, who put an arm around his shoulders.

_"Well, as I soon found out, we was in the Shire to do more than just delivering pipe-weed. I'd fallen in with a lot of ruffians and bullies, I had. But there weren't nothing for it then. I was too scared of the others to say much._

_At first, there was some hobbits helping us. Most of 'em, I think was in the same boat I was--they didn't like having to drive carts for Men, nor what they had to do, but they was afraid to say them 'nay'. But there was a few hobbits what were just as much bullies as the ones what I come with. We met the boss hobbit--a pox-faced fella who talked like gentry. I didn't much like him, either, but I only saw him the one time. Mostly we got our orders from Krag. Krag seemed to think it was funny to make the hobbits afraid of us._

_It didn't take long afore they started in not just delivering what we was given, but taking stuff. We'd tell 'em we was going to share it, but so far as I know it were carted off somewhere to the South--especially all the pipe-weed we could get hold of._

_I couldn't make myself look happy about what we was doing, and the bullies was always trying to make me join in when they was--well, I don't like to say some o' what they got up to--_

_One day, we was told we was to start closing down the inns. We went to a town called Frogmorton. We had a hobbit with us, not the boss, but one who helped him--a pasty-faced miller with a sour disposition. There was this one hobbit he singled out there, and well, he set the Men on the poor fellow. I held back to the edges, but I couldn't stop it."_

Frodo took a deep breath. This was hard to hear. He looked up at the King, whose face was grave as he studied Mr. Appledore. As for their host, his eyes were far away and haunted, and tears were falling unnoticed down his weathered cheeks.

_"I'm sure they killed that poor hobbit, though he weren't dead when we left. I felt sick. And pretty soon, I was sick, listening to the others boasting of what they did. Lost my supper, I did, and they all began to mock me, that I had a weak stomach for the job. I told 'em I must've ate something as disagreed with me, but I don't think they believed me._

_Next morning, they left me to watch our campsite when they went off to do some more of their 'gathering'. All I could think of was that poor hobbit, and thinking of how it would've felt if it had been my friend Bob back in Bree. I decided to get out while the getting was good._

_I took off, and tried to make my way out of the Shire. It was hard--I had to avoid those Men that I'd come with, and I had to avoid hobbits, too. 'Cause there was hobbits who weren't under the Men's thumbs, and they was fighting back. I was hiding out in the hills up north one time, and stumbled into some of them. Took a hobbit's arrow in the leg--it never healed proper, that's why I limp. I finally managed to sneak across the Brandywine and slowly made my way back to Bree._

_But I found the gates were shut to me when I asked to come in. Tam Thistlewool was on the gate, and he told me as I'd gone off with my new friends, I was no longer welcome. 'They killed your own cousin Rowlie, they did!' which was a shock, but not so much a shock as him telling me next that my old ma was dead as well. 'You broke her heart you did, going off like you did with that lot! Be off with you!'_

_I lived rough for a while, wandering about the Wild. I wondered how Rangers did it, for I found it a hard life. I thought mayhap if I came across any Rangers, I might ask to stay with them, but not a one did I see. Finally one day, I came across this hut, and thought to stay here a while. I been here ever since. Long about three or four years I'd been staying here, when Rangers came knocking. They told me that there was a King again, and that Ruffians had been run out of the Shire and Bree-land. They said they wasn't needing this place no more, and give me leave to stay here, but they told me never to cross the Brandywine into the Shire, as no Men could go there anymore--which is a good thing, considering._

_I try to keep away from folks, especially hobbits, as it shames me to remember what I was a part of. I take care of myself; it's not so hard most of the time, to live--I can fish, and I have a little garden--but winter, well, winter's right hard. I do get lonesome sometimes in the winter…"_

Mr. Appledore suddenly gave a choked sob. "It's hard, remembering," he wept.

Frodo leaned towards him, holding out a hand, which he lay on the Man's arm. "It's all right, Mr. Appledore. You never meant any harm, and you were frightened. But at least you were able to get away from those awful Ruffians before they made you do something horrible."

"Indeed," said the King. "I think it time your self-imposed exile comes to an end. You have suffered far more than a poor choice made in your youth would warrant."

The Man looked at them in wonder. "I don't deserve to have no one be so kind to me, but I thank you all the same, sir."

"Here," said Frodo-lad. He drew out his pocket-handkerchief and handed it to Mr. Appledore, who looked at it in surprise. It had probably been many years since he had seen such a thing, but he wiped his eyes and blew his nose after all.

The King reached into the basket, and drew out three pears, which were taken in equal delight by both Tom Appledore and by Frodo. "I hate to say this, Frodo-lad, but I am afraid we'll not make it back to the lodge in time for supper, with the weather as it is."

"Uncle Merry and Uncle Pippin will be worried!"

Just then, there came a sharp knock upon the door.


	5. Forth They Went Together

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's time to go home, but not before certain arrangements are made...

**GOOD KING ELESSAR**

 

**PART V: FORTH THEY WENT TOGETHER**  


The three startled at the sound. The King looked at Mr. Appledore. "Were you expecting any other guests?" he asked.

"I weren't expecting you, begging your pardon, sir. And you're the first people to stop here in four years."

Frodo watched as the King, his hand on his sword, rose and went to the door. "Who is it?" he called out.

Frodo could not hear the answer himself, but the King could, and he looked surprised. He stood back as he opened the door. "Bergil! Pippin!"

The two entered, covered with snow, and Frodo-lad found himself cringing at the looks on their faces. They looked to be more than a little cross.

"Strider!" said Uncle Pippin in stern tones, "I am very surprised at you doing such a thing! And dragging young Frodo along! I'm quite sure Sam will have some words for you over this!"

Bergil put a hand on Pippin's shoulder. "You forget yourself, Sir Peregrin! Remember whom you address!" But the glare he himself aimed at the King was not exactly respectful, Frodo thought.

"No, I don't forget!" Uncle Pippin's face was red. Frodo-lad tried to remember if he had ever seen his honorary uncle so angry before. "He's not behaved very much like the King I know, endangering himself and Frodo-lad like this over a whim!"

Mr. Appledore, who had also risen to gaze in astonishment at these two newcomers gave a strangled noise. "K-king?" and fell to the floor in a swoon. The thud as he hit the floor matched the thud the door made, as the wind whipped it back against the wall.

Frodo darted over to him. "Oh no! See what you've done, Uncle Pippin?"

The King and Uncle Pippin rushed to the poor Man's side. Captain Bergil took an moment to shut the door, and then he too, came over.

But Mr. Appledore was already coming round with a moan. The King gave him a sip of wine.

"You-you're the King, Strider?"

"Yes."

"But-but you came yourself, to bring me these things…"

"It's all right, Mr. Appledore. Please, do not trouble yourself on my account." He turned and looked at Bergil. "I will not deny your right to feel angry with me, Captain. But I would like to know why you disobeyed my order."

"I did not, sire," Bergil answered curtly. "I had ridden less than halfway, when I met a Shire Post rider, who had been sent with some messages to the lodge; it was a simple enough matter to make an exchange--I took the messages he bore, and he took mine and headed straight for Brandy Hall. I turned around and went back to the lodge, where I found Sir Pippin and Sir Merry both in fine tempers."

"The weather was getting worse, Strider," Uncle Pippin interrupted, "and we'd found your note. And then I found out that you had not ridden, but _walkked_ on your little errand! Thank goodness Bergil returned when he did! I tucked Merry up, and the two of us rode out, bringing your own horse behind us. Fortunately, Merry was able to tell us where to find this place!"

Mr. Appledore moaned again. "All on my account…"

"It's all right, Mr. Appledore," said Frodo. "Come on, let's get you into your bed."

Once more the attention of all four were turned upon their distraught host, as he was assisted to rise. He was reluctant at first, but soon allowed himself to be persuaded by all of these unaccustomed guests, who were rather overawing him. They guided him to his narrow cot.

Frodo-lad looked over at Captain Bergil and Uncle Pippin, who still looked a bit cross--though not so cross as they had when they first arrived. "Uncle Pippin, I can't be sorry we came! Poor Mr. Appledore--I think he would have spent a very cold and hungry night if we had not!"

Pippin's face softened. "You've a good heart, Frodo-lad, just like your namesake."

Frodo blushed to the tips of his ears. While it always made him proud to be compared to his father, to be told that he was like his never-known--yet all the same, well-beloved--Uncle Frodo--oh! It made his eyes sting! "Thank you, Uncle Pippin," he whispered, abashed.

"Well, Strider, I can't say that I can stay angry with you--but Merry is going to be fretting dreadfully until we return. Will you come back with us now?"

"Yes," said the King, "but not quite yet. I wish to speak to our good host, first." He went over, and knelt next to the bed, where the Man lay, still pale, and took his wrist to check his pulse. "You are still distressed, my friend. Do not be. You made a mistake long ago; consider it forgiven."

Mr. Appledore burst into tears at this, but the King continued. "Now, I know that you have made yourself at home here, but I would like you to consider something for me."

There was a sniff. "Yes, m-my lord?"

"I have a splendid new lodge, not far from here, in which I will have little time to spend. I find that I am in need of a caretaker there. Would you like the position?"

"My lord!" The poor Man's eyes grew huge with astonishment.

"I do not ask that you answer me tonight. With the firewood and food we have brought, you should be all right for a few days. As soon as the snow is safe, come let us know your answer."

Mr. Appledore nodded. The King placed a hand upon his brow, and leaned to murmur a few words in his ear. Soon their host was snoring gently.

The King stood up. "Let us bring in the rest of the firewood for him--but quietly." He looked at Frodo-lad, who had picked up one of the extra blankets they had brought, and was gently putting it over the sleeping Man. "Good lad," he said with approval.

The basket was tidied up, the leftover food repacked neatly, and it was placed upon the chair. Uncle Pippin banked the fire, so that it would smoulder with warmth till morning. They did all that they could to make sure they were leaving Tom Appledore warm and safe. Quietly, and with a bit of regret for the warmth they were leaving behind, the four visitors bundled up, and went back outside.

It was frosty cold, but the wind had died down, and it appeared the snow had stopped. Uncle Pippin and Bergil mounted their steeds. "Frodo-lad," asked Uncle Pippin, "will you ride with me?" for they had not brought Frodo's own pony.

But the King had mounted his horse, and he held his hand down. "No, Sir Peregrin, I think my page will ride with me."

Frodo grinned, and soon was seated in front of the King on his mighty horse, and the four rode away from the hut.

As they rode out from beneath the canopy of the trees, the sky was clear above them, and the night was brilliant with stars; Frodo glanced back at the hut, just barely to be made out. The bare branches of the trees looked like black lace against the indigo heavens. It was a beautiful night.

"Sire?"

"Yes, Frodo?"

"Do you think Mr. Appledore will take you up on your offer to be caretaker at the lodge?"

"I do think that he will. His loneliness has become a burden to him, and knowing that we did not think ill of him for his poor choice when he was young has lightened that burden a good deal."

They rode silently for a few moments. Captain Bergil and Uncle Pippin were slightly ahead of them.

Then the King spoke again. "I am sorry that I endangered you, Frodo. I made a poor choice myself this day."

"Begging your pardon, sire," Frodo said, "but I don't think you did, 'cause it's hard to know what the weather will do--even my dad gets it wrong sometimes. That poor fellow would have been very cold and hungry without our help. I don't think he had enough firewood left to last till morning, and what he had for food wouldn't've kept a bird alive!"

"Perhaps you are right. Still, I should have paid more attention to the weather."

"The stars are bright tonight," Frodo said. He pointed up to the sky. "Sam-dad says that one is Eärendil. Is the story about it true?"

"Yes, Eärendil was my long ago ancestor, and the Queen's grandfather."

"Oh." Frodo-lad gazed at the star with new interest. He'd thought perhaps it was just a pretty story, to explain why his father loved the star so much. He thought of the star his father had seen in Mordor, and of the Lady's phial. He leaned back and relaxed into the warmth of the rider behind him.

Perhaps Uncle Pippin had heard their soft conversation, for he began to sing quietly--

 _Earendil was a mariner_  
that tarried in Arvernien;  
he built a boat of timber felled  
in Nimbrethil to journey in;  
her sails he wove of silver fair,  
of silver were her lanterns made,  
her prow was fashioned like a swan  
and light upon her banners laid. 

_In panoply of ancient kings,  
in chained rings he armoured him…_

Frodo-lad yawned. Sleepily he murmured "I'm glad I'm going to be your page, Uncle Strider…" and heard a warm chuckle answer him, before he drifted off to sleep.

 


	6. Epilogure: Shall Yourselves Find Blessing

  **GOOD KING ELESSAR**  


**EPILOGUE: SHALL YOURSELVES FIND BLESSING**  


Clack. Clack. Clack.

It was two days since Frodo-lad's "adventure" with the King. The snow had mostly melted--there were still a few banks and patches in the shade where the Sun did not show herself, but she was bright this morning.

Clack. Clack. Clack.

He was in front of the lodge, sparring with Uncle Pippin, with wooden practise swords. The King and Uncle Merry and Bergil watched. Uncle Merry had been glad to be allowed to come out in the sunshine. He sat on the front step of the lodge, with his foot propped up on a small barrel. The King sat next to him, and Bergil stood nearby, keeping an alert eye out.

"Move your feet, lad!" called the King.

Clack. Clack. Thwack.

Frodo stopped completely, startled. He'd actually landed a blow to Uncle Pippin's upper arm. Uncle Pippin stepped back. "That was good, Frodo-lad! Very good!" He rubbed at the place where the blow had landed.

"Are you all right?" asked Frodo.

"I'm fine; I'm wearing my armour, after all, lad."

The King had sighed and rolled his eyes. "Hobbits!" he said.

Uncle Merry glanced over at him. "What's the problem?" he asked, amused.

Bergil exchanged a glance with the King, and then said "You hobbits are too polite. You stop in the middle of a match to exchange pleasantries!"

Uncle Pippin laughed. "Why not? It's not like we are fighting actual enemies."

This was an old argument, and the Men and the hobbits all chuckled now.  
Then Bergil called out, "Look!"

Frodo glanced to where the captain was pointing. A figure was coming towards them. "It's Mr. Appledore!" He tossed aside his practice weapon--getting an exclamation of protest from all the adults--and dashed forth to greet the new arrival.

Tom Appledore looked rather surprised at the warmth of his reception. The King had stood, and he nervously approached, and attempted a rather awkward and unpractised bow. "My lord, I--uh--well, if you still want me, that is, I thought I would take you up on your offer to be caretaker?" He gazed up at the lodge, and his eyes grew wide. "If--if you think I can do it?"

The King placed his hands on Mr. Appledore's shoulders. "I am glad that you have decided to accept my offer. I think you will do well."

The other Man had tears in his eyes. "I don't know why you are so kind to me." Suddenly, he sobbed, putting his face in his hands.

The King drew him into a brief embrace of comfort, and then turned with his arms about the poor Man's shoulders.

"Come inside with me, and we shall speak privily."

Frodo stood with Captain Bergil, Uncle Merry and Uncle Pippin, and watched as the King drew Mr. Appledore away.

Uncle Merry and Uncle Pippin exchanged a look full of meaning. "Was there ever anyone like him?" asked Uncle Pippin.

"He helps us to live on those heights we once spoke of," said Uncle Merry. "I can't think of a greater blessing than to have him for our King."

Nor can I, thought Frodo-lad. And it's going to be a real blessing to serve him this year.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case the reader is not already aware, this story is based on the old Christmas carol "Good King Wenceslas", which in turn is based on a real historical figure, the Duke of Bohemia, who was martyred by his brother in 929AD.
> 
>  
> 
> _Good King Wenceslas looked out_  
>  on the feast of Stephen,  
> when the snow lay round about,  
> deep and crisp and even.  
> Brightly shone the moon that night,  
> though the frost was cruel,  
> when a poor man came in sight,  
> gathering winter fuel.
> 
>  
> 
> _Hither, page, and stand by me._  
>  If thou know it telling:  
> yonder peasant, who is he?  
> Where and what his dwelling?  
> Sire, he lives a good league hence,  
> underneath the mountain,  
> right against the forest fence  
> by Saint Agnes fountain.
> 
>  
> 
> _Bring me flesh, and bring me wine._  
>  Bring me pine logs hither.  
> Thou and I will see him dine  
> when we bear the thither.  
> Page and monarch, forth they went,  
> forth they went together  
> through the rude wind's wild lament  
> and the bitter weather.
> 
>  
> 
> _Sire, the night is darker now,_  
>  and the wind blows stronger.  
> Fails my heart, I know not how.  
> I can go no longer.  
> Mark my footsteps my good page,  
> tread thou in them boldly:  
> Thou shalt find the winter's rage  
> freeze thy blood less coldly.
> 
>  
> 
> _In his master's step he trod,_  
>  where the snow lay dented.  
> Heat was in the very sod  
> which the saint had printed.  
> Therefore, Christian men, be sure,  
> wealth or rank possessing,  
> ye who now will bless the poor  
> shall yourselves find blessing


	7. Author's Notes

This story was inspired by one of my favorite Christmas carols, due solely to the fact that "Good King Elessar" has the same number of syllables as "Good King Wenceslas".

Although I am sure most of my readers are at least somewhat familiar with the carol on which this story is based, here are the lyrics:

_Good King Wenceslas looked out_  
 _On the feast of Stephen_  
 _When the snow lay round about_  
 _Deep and crisp and even_  
 _Brightly shone the moon that night_  
 _Though the frost was cruel_  
 _When a poor man came in sight_  
 _Gath'ring winter fuel_.

_"Hither, page, and stand by me_   
_If thou know'st it, telling_   
_Yonder peasant, who is he?_   
_Where and what his dwelling?"_   
_"Sire, he lives a good league hence_   
_Underneath the mountain_   
_Right against the forest fence_   
_By Saint Agnes' fountain."_

_"Bring me flesh and bring me wine_   
_Bring me pine logs hither_   
_Thou and I will see him dine_   
_When we bear him thither."_   
_Page and monarch forth they went_   
_Forth they went together_   
_Through the rude wind's wild lament_   
_And the bitter weather._

_"Sire, the night is darker now_   
_And the wind blows stronger_   
_Fails my heart, I know not how,_   
_I can go no longer."_   
_"Mark my footsteps, my good page_   
_Tread thou in them boldly_   
_Thou shalt find the winter's rage_   
_Freeze thy blood less coldly."_

_In his master's steps he trod_   
_Where the snow lay dinted_   
_Heat was in the very sod_   
_Which the Saint had printed_   
_Therefore, Christian men, be sure_   
_Wealth or rank possessing_   
_Ye who now will bless the poor_   
_Shall yourselves find blessing._

"Good King Wenceslas" was an actual person. According to Wikipedia:  
 _Wenceslaus I ( c. 907 – September 28, 935), or Wenceslas I, was the duke of Bohemia from 921 until his assassination in 935, purportedly in a plot by his own brother, Boleslav the Cruel._

_His martyrdom, and the popularity of several biographies, quickly gave rise to a reputation for heroic goodness, resulting in his being elevated to sainthood, posthumously declared king, and seen as the patron saint of the Czech state. He is the subject of "Good King Wenceslas", a Saint Stephen's Day carol written over 900 years later, in 1853, that remains popular to this day._

So while the legend has been around for over a thousand years, the carol is only about a hundred and sixty years old:

_In 1853, English hymnwriter John Mason Neale wrote the "Wenceslas" lyrics, in collaboration with his music editor Thomas Helmore, and the carol first appeared in Carols for Christmas-Tide, 1853. Neale's lyrics were set to a tune based on a 13th-century spring carol "Tempus adest floridum" ("The time is near for flowering") first published in the 1582 Finnish song collection Piae Cantiones._

Here is a link to the carol sung by a traditional choir:  
[Good King Wenceslas](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SQVUMG6LZGM)


End file.
